Blood Brothers
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Tag of sorts to Fresh Blood. Sam’s actions have unexpected consequences and one small mistake might change the lives of the brothers forever. Three-Shot. AU. AU.
1. Bloody Mistakes

_A/N: Spoilers for Fresh Blood. I actually wrote this several days after Fresh Blood first aired in the US. The ending as it exists now was what I wrote that first time out. I went back and tried to rewrite it five or six times, but this is the way it wants to be. The conversation between the brothers covers topics that they touched on in later episodes, but I decided to leave it here… I'd like to offer a very special thanks Dennis, Abni, TraSan and Manavie for encouraging me to post this! Their support has made me brave enough… AU… Not death fic._

**Blood Brothers**

**Chapter One**

**Bloody Mistakes**

_Vampire bites…How much fun is that? I guess there is a first time for everything, but wow, could have missed that a little. Love the blood-running-down-my-neck sensation, one of my favorites. _Dean glanced over at Sam, his brother still had the same shell-shocked look he had on his face at the warehouse. Sam hadn't said anything since they had gotten in the car, he just stared out the window as the lights flashed by, lost somewhere.

_After all that about wanting me back, little brother, you get lost more these days than I like to think about. _Dean sighed as he pulled the car up in front of the motel. Sam stumbled out, opening the door and disappearing in the dark room before Dean could say anything. _Great, we need to talk, Sam. _Dean followed more slowly. _My neck hurts. Damn, that sounds like a whine, but hey, got chomped, you know. _Dean closed the door and locked it. He looked at the bed frame he had used to block the door earlier. _Nah, I don't think we need that now. Sammy took care of that problem…With razor wire. _Dean turned into the room. Sam was standing by the table, still with that lost look on his face.

"Sammy?"

His brother looked up at him, not really focused. "Yeah?" he said absently, looking at his hands. Dean took a good look. He hadn't noticed in the warehouse and on the drive back Sam had kept his hands well hidden. _But now that I get a good look at them, oh, my god, Sam. What the hell? _

Sam suddenly lost the unfocused, shell-shocked look. "Dean!" He stepped forward. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened, Sammy?"

"Gordon bit you?"

"Chomped is better, he chomped me good," Dean said with a smirk. Sam grabbed Dean's shirt and pulled him into the bathroom. "What are you doing?"

"Let me fix that," Sam said. He shifted Dean's head a little to the side to get a better look at the wound.

"I'm okay," Dean said. He was looking in horror at Sam's hands, trying to see if they had gotten cut during the fight with Gordon. Sam's hands were covered in blood, but Dean couldn't tell if he'd been cut. "Sammy!" _Oh my god, are your hands cut? Did you get Gordon's blood on your hands? Oh god, Sammy, please say that didn't happen._

Sam looked at Dean for a moment, his eyes following Dean's stare, he looked down at his hand where it rested on Dean's neck and met his eyes. "Oh, god, Dean." Before Dean could react, Sam had Dean's head over the sink and was running water over the bite.

The water was cold. It slowly warmed. Soap lathered against Dean's neck, stinging the open wound. "Wash your hands too, Sam," Dean said calmly, his voice muffled a little by his brother's arm. _And really that's great since I am not calm at all. Not calm a tiny bit. In fact full-blown panic might be part of this. My heart may explode any moment now, Sam. This is so not good. Oh god, Sam, what do I do if…If somehow you're…?_ "Water's getting cold." Sam ignored him, still frantically scrubbing the wound on his neck. "Water's cold, back hurts, Sam." He realized Sam was repeating "I'm sorry, oh god, I'm sorry." _Okay, Sammy, that's enough. _He pushed up against his brother's hands. Sam tried to shove him down again. "It's enough, it's clean."

"How can you be sure, Dean?" Sam said, his face white, hands shaking. "I…I didn't think. I'm sorry."

Dean ignored his brother's mumbled apology and pulled Sam's hands under the cold water, carefully lathering them and rinsing the blood and soap away. _My god, his hands are a mess. This is so not good. What did you do, Sam? What were you thinking? How badly are they actually cut? Wait…_Dean looked at his brother's hand. _Maybe it's not as bad as thought. _Sam tried to pull his hands away. Dean held them firmly under the water. _I know it's cold, should have thought of that. How long? Can you even wash that poison out? And if you can't, are we both affected? _"Are your hands cut?" he said, pulling Sam towards the table. Sam reverted to that lost look as Dean had washed his hands.

"Dean…I don't know, just this one I think." Sam held out his left arm, there was a small wound just below his wrist. He swallowed, meeting Dean's eyes. "Do you think?"

_I could pretend I don't know what you are talking about, but what's the point? _"I don't know, Sammy. Let me bandage this first. You were lucky. You must have grabbed that wire just right." _Oh, god, Sam, your wrist was cut, did you get blood in there? Did you??_

"How fast will it affect us, do you think?" Sam said, watching Dean wind a bandage around Sam's wrist.

"We don't even know if we are infected, Sam." _Yep, don't know, but I'm thinking when you popped Gordon's head off, you might have gotten a little blood on you._

"I probably got a little of his blood on my hands, Dean," Sam said. "I didn't think when I checked your neck, god, I'm sorry." Sam took some gauze from Dean and carefully covered the seeping bite mark on Dean's neck. He taped it into place, tears slowly getting heavy in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Dean." Sam sank into a chair, his head in his hands.

"Sammy, hey, it's okay," Dean said, sitting in the chair next to him.

"Not really." Sam looked up at him. "Not at all." He looked down at his hands, the white gauze on his wrist already stained with fresh blood. "I didn't think, Dean. I should have. I just…"

_Okay, Sam, what are you talking about? There is a lot in that statement. _"Yeah?" he said, looking at Sam.

"I just…Gordon…and then you were…I didn't think."

"Yeah, and Sammy? You're not actually making much sense either," Dean said with a little laugh, trying to break the look of utter despair on his brother's face.

"What?" Sam looked up at him. "Not really am I? I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't think about his blood on my hands. I just saw your neck and…" He shrugged sadly.

"It's okay." _His blood on your hands, Sam. And an open wound on your hand, oh god. Even if you didn't pass it on to me, how can you not be infected? And if you are, what the hell do I do? _"He did take a pretty good chomp."

"It's not funny."

"It's a little funny," Dean said, smiling. The smile faded when he saw Sam's face. "It happened, we just have to wait and see, Sam, that's all."

"Wait and see?" Sam said with a dangerous edge. "Wait and see what, Dean?"

"I don't know, what happens, I guess."

"Wait and see if one or both of us are infected?" Sam said with dangerous calm. "Wait and see which one of us decides to try and kill the other first?"

"Probably wouldn't try and kill, just eat, don't you think?" Dean said, watching Sam.

"And if that happens, what do we do?" Sam was calm, unmoving, his hands, resting on the top of the table, were visibly shaking.

"We'll deal with that when and if it happens."

"Since when are you Mr. Wait and See?" Sam said in a deathly calm voice, as if all emotion had been pulled away.

_About the time I had to face that this was you, Sam, what the hell do you think? If it were anyone else, bam, no head, but this is you, Sammy. YOU. Don't you get it? I would wait till the world ended if I had to. DON'T YOU GET IT, SAM? Killing me is no problem, actually that would make it easier, but not you. Never. And if you do go down, Sam? I'm going too, infected or not. _"I don't know," Dean said with a shrug.

"Don't know?" Still calm.

_You know that calm thing you do freaks me out a little, Sam, it's like the weird, freaky calm before the class-seven hurricane blows in. _"Yeah, Sammy, I don't know. I don't know, okay?"

"You don't know?"

_If you say that again, Sam…_Dean shrugged again. "Yep, don't know."

"You…Don't…Know…" Sam said, spacing the words, his voice, if anything, getting calmer on each word.

_Here it comes. _"I…Don't…Know."

"You don't…" Sam took a deep breath, it sounded calm, or would have to anyone but Dean. He heard what was under his brother's soft inhale. "I…and you…" Sam looked at him, utter calm on his face, his eyes wild. He took another breath and exploded. The table slammed against the wall, followed by a chair. Dean grabbed Sam before his brother could inflict any more damage—on the room or himself.

"Sam!"

"Let me go, Dean," Sam said, trying to pull away.

"As soon as I'm sure you're not a danger to the furniture. There isn't much in here."

"Let me go," Sam repeated, holding perfectly still. Dean could feel the tension in his brother's muscles.

"Are you going to leave the furniture alone?" Trying to keep his voice light.

The tension suddenly left Sam, he sagged against Dean. "Yeah, I will," he mumbled.

"Good boy." Dean let him go with a slap on the back.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Sam picked up the chair and set it back on its feet. One leg wobbled. "Sorry."

"Breaking furniture is never good, Sammy."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Sam turned back to Dean.

_Do I purposely misunderstand? Or do we talk? If he was infected, what do I do? Why do I keep asking myself that? I know what I'll do. Simple. Oh, god, not simple at all. _"Sam, it'll be okay, I doubt you were infected."

"Me?" Sam blinked at him. "You think it's because…? Me?" His brother gave him another wild look and paced across the room. Dean could see the tension starting in Sam again.

"Sam, calm down," Dean said. His brother turned on him. "Or not."

Dean shrugged and walked over to his bag. After rummaging around in it for a minute, he pulled out a bottle of tequila. Sam watched him pick the table up and set it back in the center of the room. Dean dragged the wobbly chair over to the table, set the other on the opposite side and sat down. He put the bottle on the table. The adrenaline was rapidly running out, he was exhausted, his hands were shaking. Cold was beginning to seep through his bones. _I'm getting to old for this shit. _Dean smiled as the quote played in his head. _Loved that movie. _He took a drink, grimacing as the tequila burned its way down his throat. "Smooth."

Sam stood staring at him for another minute before dragging himself to the table. He sat down, the chair wobbling a little as he settled. "Gave me the broken chair?" Sam said, his voice neutral.

"You broke it, you buy it." Dean grinned and passed the bottle to his brother.

Sam accepted and took a swig. He started coughing. "What is this?"

"Bottle says…tequila."

"The bottle says 'Geronimo's Finest,' Dean. And the label looks homemade."

Dean took the bottle and peered at the label. "Does look homemade." He took another drink. "Did I ever tell you about the time I bought that bootleg mescal out in New Mexico?"

When Dean offered the bottle, Sam took it again. _Planning on matching me drink for drink, Sammy? Bet you're out before me. _"Is that the little adventure that led to your sage advice 'never buy tequila that's in an old apple cider jug'?"

"I think I always add 'with a handwritten label' to that advice, Sammy." Dean took the bottle again. "I'm hoping this stuff will warm me up. I'm freezing."

"What do we do about this, Dean?" Sam matched his drink and upped the ante with a second swig.

"We wait, Sam. We don't know if you were infected." Dean drank again. The tequila didn't seem to burn as much. _Or I've dissolved the lining of my throat already._

"Dean…" Sam scrubbed his hands over his face. He swallowed and looked up at Dean again. Grabbing the bottle, he took another drink. "I think it's melted my throat," Sam said, coughing a little. "Chasers are good, Dean."

"Chasers are for girls." Dean reached for the bottle again, he had a hard time getting his hand to close around it. He knew Sam was watching him, Dean focused and forced his fingers around the bottle.

"Dean…"

"No, Sam, we wait."

"And if…" Sam stopped for some reason. "If I'm infected?" he said with a frown.

"We worry about that if it happens, Sammy," Dean said, hearing a slight slur in his voice. _Have I had that much? _He looked at the bottle, trying to figure out how much of the tequila he'd consumed. _When did I eat? Empty stomach and tequila…_

Sam was watching him. "Dean?"

"No, not hearing it, Sam. I'm not going to lose you again." Dean was surprised at the anger that was suddenly boiling out of him.

"Lose me? You're the one who's been trying to push me away," Sam snapped back. "And Dean, I'm not going to do it."

"Do what, Sam?"

"Spend the last year of your life like this. I won't, Dean. I'm tired of…"

"What?" Dean snapped. _Tequila, stress and Sam? Not good bedfellows. _

"I told you, Dean. I want…What's the point in me being alive if I don't have…"

"What, Sam? WHAT?"

"You, Dean. I want my brother back."

"Sam…" Dean said, the anger draining out of him, replaced by cold exhaustion. The room wavered at the edges.

"I don't care if you're scared or…or whatever the hell you're telling yourself, Dean." Sam stopped himself and sighed. "I'm an adult. I don't need you invincible anymore, I just need you."

Dean picked the bottle up again, carefully closing his hand around it before lifting it off the table. "Sam…" he said, pausing before taking a drink. _Shut up, brilliant, shut up. Just drink the tequila and don't under any circumstances open your big mouth. _"What do you want me to say?" _How is that shutting your mouth? _He took a long pull on the bottle. _What was that? About a…what do you call ten shots? _Dean blinked. Sam was a little fuzzy around the edges. "Focus," he laughed.

"Dean?" Sam took the bottle out of his hand and put it on the table.

"What do you want me to say?" Dean sighed. "You think I want to die?"

"A little." Sam said, frowning at him.

Dean blinked. "Stop moving around." _Shut up, don't go on, tequila and you? Not good bedfellows. _"I don't want to die, Sammy. I just want it to end. I…If you're infected, Sam…" He made a grab at the bottle, Sam pulled it away. "Ah, come on, Sammy. Give me the bottle." Dean stood, the room did a somersault around him. He blinked. "How'd I get down here?"

Sam walked around the table and reached for his hand. Dean grabbed it. "Dean?" Sam was frowning as he steered him back to the chair.

"Thanks," Dean said. He snatched the bottle off the table. "Ha."

"You've had enough."

"Never enough, Sam. There's just not enough."

"Enough for what, Dean?"

"To make it stop, all of it." _Shut up, shut up. Just shut up…you are going to say something you will…_"I want the pain to stop, Sammy. I want…god, I want a normal life so bad sometimes it makes me ache. I want…" _See? Shut up. _

"What, Dean?" Sam asked, his voice gentle.

"Nothing," Dean muttered to the table. _I want what you want, I want…Oh, god, Sam what do I do if you're infected. How do I? How can I? _

"Dean?" Sam dropped a hand on his shoulder. "What?"

"I…" _Shut up, shut up don't…_ "I don't want to go to hell, Sammy. Dying is bad enough. I don't want to go to hell."

"I know, Dean," Sam's hand tightened on his shoulder. His brother was frowning at him, concern squinched between his brows. "I'll figure it out, I promised, remember?"

"Not if it means your dying, Sam. Never. Promise."

"Dean?"

He pushed himself up and grabbed Sam's collar. "Promise me, Sam. Promise me you won't die trying to save me."

"Dean…" Sam's frown deepened, his eyes were bright with tears.

"Please, Sam."

"You're drunk."

"Yeah, I am, but that doesn't have…promise me, please Sam, it terrifies me, knowing what you might do, please Sam." _So much for shutting up._

"Dean…" Sam swallowed. "I…I can't Dean."

"Sam?"

"I told you, I'd do anything, and I will, if I have to."

"You die, Sam, I'm not saved any way." _I think I might have slurred a little there._

"You're not shaved?"

"I said saved." Dean pulled back a little, Sam was completely blurry. "Can you focus, Sam?"

"You need to lie down, Dean." Sam pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder and helped him to the bed. "We'll talk later."

"No, now." _Okay, you might want to shut up now. Who knew tequila was truth serum? Smart. Really smart. _

Sam patted his chest before pulling the blanket over him. "In the morning, Dean. We'll talk then."

"I. Sam. We." _I think I said more words than that… Maybe not? _"Morning."

"Yeah, Dean, in the morning."

"Sammy?" Panic suddenly rose back up, a huge flood wave, pulling him along with it. "Are you…? Sammy?" _Are you infected? I need to stay up for you…I…I…_"I need to…" Dean reached out for his brother.

Sam grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze before setting it down on the blanket. "It's okay, Dean, sleep." Sam's voice sounded a little off to Dean.

"Sammy?" He struggled up through the layers pushing him down. Opening his eyes—_When did I close them?—_he blinked against the light from the bathroom.

"I'm okay, Dean, I think we'd know by now if I was infected at the warehouse."

"Thank god," Dean said, letting his eyes close again. "Sam…"

"In the morning, Dean."

"Kay," Dean said. Sleep was creeping up on him, numbing his body, slowing his mind. "Cold," he heard himself say.

"Okay, Dean." Sam pulled another blanket over him, tucking it under his shoulders.

"Thank…" Dean drifted into the dark.

"Not good enough, damn it," Sam was shouting, the words pulling Dean away from a velvety darkness.

"Some people have hangovers," Dean groaned.

"Call you later," Sam said. "Dean?"

"Don't yell." Dean's head was pounding, his stomach ached with a burning intensity, he felt like he couldn't move at all. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, nearly drowning out all other sounds. "God, my head is killing me. Too much tequila last night, eh, Sammy?"

"Last…Yeah, Dean," Sam said softly. Dean could hear his brother moving around the room.

"My stomach…" Dean groaned again as his stomach twisted. "Won't buy Geronimo's Finest again." He tried to sit up, but the blanket seemed to be holding him down, the movement made his brain slam against his skull. "Don't want to move much."

"I know." Sam stopped beside the bed and slid his hand under Dean's head. "Here, this will help." A cup was placed against his lips.

Dean drank, the sweet liquid warmed him, took the pain from his stomach, eased the pounding of his head. He took another drink, greedily consuming all of the liquid. "Good stuff, Sammy," he said as his brother gently put his head down.

"Yeah," Sam's voice was sad. "Sleep a little longer, Dean. I'll be here."

"You okay?" Dean asked. Whatever Sam had given him took away the pain, but it was also making him sleepy again.

"Sure, Dean." Sam put a gentle hand on his head. His brother's hand felt warm, it eased the last of the headache.

"Okay, just give me a few minutes more…" Dean sighed and let sleep carry him away again.

"I don't know, Bobby," Sam was saying as consciousness reared again. Dean groaned, the headache was back, pounding against his skull with a fury he'd never known. His stomach was gnawing at him, his heart slamming into the headache with physical violence. _Oh, god, never again tequila with homemade labels. You think I would have learned last time._

"Sam?" he said, his voice sounding strained.

"Got to go. Dean?" Sam said.

Dean forced one eye open, blinking at the brightness of the lamplight. "Hangovers suck."

Sam's smile was sad. "Yeah, they do."

"Why are you…?"

"Oh, I tried your cure, the greasy pork chop and ashtray? Fixed me right up."

"Oh, god, Sam, don't." Dean swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Sam laughed a little. Dean got his other eye open, blinking away a few tears from the light. "My head…Oh, god."

"I'll get you something, Dean, it'll help."

"Same stuff you gave me last time? That really helped."

"I know," Sam said, his voice breaking.

_Something is going on, Sammy? What? _"Sam?" Dean struggled to sit up, he couldn't. He was held in place by the blankets, he fought them for a moment, then dropped back down. "Yikes."

"It's okay, Dean." Sam picked up a jar and poured the contents into a mug. Dean blinked again as he got a look at what Sam was pouring.

"Sammy?" he said.

His brother met his eyes. "Yeah, Dean?"

Dean's heart accelerated. Pounding against his head, the sound nearly deafening, the heartbeat y frantic. Panic, terror, pain—they were all there in that pounding beat. Dean shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to calm the overly fast beat. It didn't help. As Sam approached the bed, Dean realized why he hadn't been able to calm that frenetic heartbeat.

_Oh, god. Oh, no. No._

It wasn't his heartbeat he was hearing at all.

It was Sam's.

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. Thicker Than Blood

_A/N I: I meant to have this chapter much sooner, but I am on bed rest and after being busted with the computer in bed (I'll be sneakier from now on) it was taken away and the internet unplugged at the source. I'm allowed a very few hours a day. I'll catch up on review replies soon! Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing._

_A/N II: I know I said this was a two shot. The second chapter covered so much ground, that after consulting with a few people, I've decided to split it into two. I'll have chapter three up early in the week. Thank you to Birdie for asking (and getting answers) to truly ghoulish questions. Chapter title is from the Sting song "Love is Stronger than Justice"_

**Blood Brothers**

**Chapter Two**

**Thicker Than Blood**

It was the worst moment of his life. In a life like his, full of grief, despair, horror and fear, that was saying a lot. The fact that he had been the unwitting architect of that moment would haunt him for the rest of his life. _Although I suspect it will be a short life. _He would remember that horrible moment forever. The moment when he realized he'd infected Dean. When he realized the blood on his hands would be the death of his brother.

Dean had been getting drunk fast, a little faster than usual. Sam was trying to keep up, but when his brother put his mind to drinking, there was no keeping up. When Dean ended up on the floor, Sam decided his brother had enough. Trying to get Dean to stop didn't go quite as planned. _I wanted this, wanted him to talk, but…_Dean started talking, his eyes unfocused, the alcohol loosening his tongue.

"Dean?" Sam placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "What?"

"I…I don't want to go to hell, Sammy. Dying is bad enough. I don't want to go to hell," Dean said desperately, his words slurring together.

"I know, Dean," Sam's said, suddenly aware Dean's shoulder was cool, almost cold. Sam drew a painful breath. _Oh, god, oh god, oh no, please, please, please no._ "I'll figure it out, I promised, remember?" He tried to keep his voice normal, he wasn't sure he was succeeding. _Is he just drunk? Please let him be just drunk. Oh god, what do I do? If I…If he's…What do I do? Did I? Did I just…I can't face it, no. Please no._

"Not if it means your dying, Sam. Never. Promise."

"Dean?" Sam focused on his brother.

Dean pushed himself up and grabbed Sam's collar, his hands were ice cold where they rested on Sam's neck. "Promise me, Sam. Promise me you won't die trying to save me."

"Dean…" It hit Sam hard. The realization stopping his heart, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking as tears sprung into his eyes. _Oh, god, Dean, no. No, no, no. I…I…I did…I infected you, oh god, no. I'm so sorry. How can sorry even cover this? _

"Please, Sam."

"You're drunk." _Please let that be it. _

"Yeah, I am, but that doesn't have…promise me, please Sam, it terrifies me, knowing what you might do, please Sam." Dean's was pleading as he clung to Sam. The light in his eyes was fading, even as tears sparkled on his cheeks. Sam wondered if Dean realized…

"Dean…" Sam swallowed. "I…I can't Dean." _I have to save you. And not just from Hell, from what I've done to you. I'm so sorry._

"Sam?"

"I told you, I'd do anything, and I will." Sam met Dean's eyes, trying to let him know the truth of that statement. _Anything, Dean. I mean that. Anything, for Hell, for what I've done…Oh, god, Dean. For what I've done…Anything._

"You die, Sam, I'm not shaved any way," Dean slurred.

"You're not shaved?" Sam said with a laugh.

"I said saved." Dean protested. Sam recognized the tone—the "I didn't do that at all Sam, you must be nuts" voice. Dean pulled back and looked at Sam. "Can you focus, Sam?"

"You need to lie down, Dean." Sam pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder and helped him to the bed. "We'll talk later." He helped Dean lay down, feeling the cold seeping through Dean's t-shirt. Dean's breathing was slowing, the pulse under Sam's hand sluggish. _Oh god no, oh god no, oh god no, ohgodohgodohgodohgod._

"No, now."

Sam patted Dean's chest before pulling the blanket over him. "In the morning, Dean. We'll talk then." _I'm so sorry, Dean, oh, god. At least let me make this easy for you, at least let me give you this. _Sam tried to draw a breath, for some reason it felt like he couldn't. The ache in his chest was threatening to break loose and shatter him completely.

"I. Sam. We. Morning." Dean said with a smile.

Sam smiled back. "Yeah, Dean, in the morning." _Assuming there is a morning at all, Dean. _

"Sammy? Are you…? Sammy?" Dean's voice held the note of panic he reserved for Sam. "I need to…" Dean reached out for him, Sam took his brother's hand, it was ice cold, the life already seeping away.

Sam gave it a squeeze before setting it down on the blanket. "It's okay, Dean, sleep." _Sleep? What will it be like? Oh, god, Dean, I'm so sorry._

"Sammy?" Dean opened his eyes, blinking several times before focusing on Sam.

"I'm okay, Dean, I think we'd know by now if I was infected at the warehouse." _I'm not infected, but Dean? Dean I killed you. Oh, god, Dean, I'm so sorry._

"Thank god," Dean said, letting his eyes close. "Sam…"

"In the morning, Dean."

"Kay," Dean said. "M, cold."

"Okay, Dean." Sam pulled another blanket over him, tucking it gently around his brother's shoulders. _How do I keep this cold away? How? I can't._

"Thank…" Dean didn't finish. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. He slid his hand under the blankets, letting it rest on Dean's chest. He could feel Dean's heartbeat, as his heart struggled against the poison slowly taking him.

His hand was there when Dean's heart skittered. His hand was there when Dean's heart took the last beat it ever would. Sam waited, but nothing…nothing under his hand.

"Oh, god, Dean, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I…I'll fix this, Dean, I'll find a way to fix this." The tears were flowing from his eyes, running off the end of his nose to drip on the blanket. One dropped on Dean's face, Sam reached down to brush it away, then pulled his hand back as if it had been burned. Dean was cold, lifeless. _No, I did this_. _Oh, god, Dean, I did this. I…I…_ He tried to take a breath, to calm himself._ I have to face what I've done. _He brushed the tear away. _I have to face this. I need to deal with what I've done. _An icy calm spread through him, stopping the tears, freezing everything, motivating action, only action.

Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Bobby's number, the gruff "What the hell Sam?" on the other end almost undid the calm.

"Hey, Bobby? What do you know about vampires?"

"Vampires?"

"Yeah, I mean about their first feed, are the legends true?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, if a vampire feeds on something other than human blood for their first feed they won't crave human blood?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice light.

"You mean like if a vampire gets a hold of a rat, he'll only crave rat?"

"Something like that."

"That's crap, like most of the legends. First feed has to be human blood or the vampire will die. It's that simple."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said.

"Can I ask why?"

"We were watching a show…Dean said it was true, I said it wasn't…Thought I'd ask."

"So you get the 'I told you so' rights? God, you two drive me nuts sometimes."

"Yeah, I know, bye." Sam broke the connection before Bobby could ask any more questions.

Sam pushed himself up from the bed, waited a moment and walked woodenly out to the car. He opened the trunk and stood staring into it for a long time. Finally, he reached in and pulled out a piece of rope. He looked at it. _No. God, I hate that I have to do this, but this won't be enough to hold him. _Shifting aside several items, he grabbed a bag from the back of the trunk, remembering the day Dean had acquired it.

"_Look what I found, Sammy," Dean said, bounding into the hotel room and dropping a bag on the bed. _

_Sam unzipped the bag and looked up at Dean. "Planning an interesting date?"_

"_Sammy, Sammy, you never know when some chain will come in handy. Chain…It's not just for dates anymore," Dean said with a grin. _

Sam carried the bag back into the room. After placing another blanket over Dean, wound the chains around his brother, pulling them as tight as he could, he then fastened them with a heavy duty disc lock. As he pulled the key from the lock, the finality of what was happening—what had happened—caught him. His calm nearly shattered. Talking a deep breath he shoved the emotion away. _I know I can only keep that up for so long. I wonder how Dean manages? I need to learn._

_He's going to need to feed. I can't leave him…So it's me, I guess. I'm going to need help. _He picked his phone up and scrolled through the numbers till he found the one he wanted.

"Hello?" Dr. Dave Robinson answered on the third ring.

"Hey, Dr. Dave, it's Sam Winchester," Sam said.

"Sam? How the hell are you? Haven't heard from you since…Can't think of when…" Sam could hear the smile in the doctor's voice. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to know about blood…"

"It's red, it's in your veins…" The doctor laughed. "What else do you need to know?"

"Let's just say for example I needed to collect blood and keep it for awhile…"

"Sam? What's wrong?"

"I…uh…"

"It's that bad? I'm sorry. Want to talk about it?" The man's voice was full of gentle compassion.

"Later? I'll tell you later," Sam said, knowing if he talked he would break.

"Okay, collecting blood, well, you'll need to keep it from coagulating…" Dave paused. "Are you feeding the blood to something?"

"Does that matter?"

"Well, the anticoagulants might not be good…they might be poisonous."

"Yeah, I am."

"Okay, here's what you do. You'll need a needle, tube and sterile jar."

"I can't just cut my arm?"

"Your arm? Good god, Sam, what's going on?" Dave cleared his throat. "Sorry. Never mind. No, slashing won't work. Get an artery and you'll need a lot of pressure to stop the bleed, get a vein it's a little easier, but you'll still risk fainting due to blood loss. And that might kill you."

"Okay, a needle and a tube. I'm pretty sure I have those in the first-aid kit."

"You should. I think I gave you some last time. If you still have those sterile collection cups I gave you, they'll work."

"I think I do. So then what?" Sam asked while he took notes.

"You'll also need some paper clips—metal ones."

"Paper clips?" Sam said. _Luckily Dean always has a box or two anymore. I wonder why? I never asked… _

"Yeah. Open them up and put them in your sterile jar. You'll want to squeeze on a ball or something to help the blood flow. Once you get enough—and Sam?—be careful, you might be dizzy from blood loss. But once you get enough, close the jar and invert it, roll it around gently, the clots will collect on the paperclips, when you're finished decant it into another jar."

"How long will it keep?"

"With refrigeration about as long as milk." Dave paused. "Did that help?"

"Yeah, thanks, Dr. Dave. I'll call you later and let you know how it worked, okay?" Sam could hear the emotion in his voice and hoped Dave wouldn't pick up on it.

"Sam? Call. If you need to talk, just call. I know Dean can be a bit…well Dean…about things. If you need to talk, call me."

"Thanks."

"Anytime, Sam, I mean that." The doctor broke the connection.

Sam looked at the phone for a minute before walking back to the Impala and grabbing the first-aid kit. Digging through it, he found what he was looking for and pulled it out. _Maybe I should do this in the bathroom, in case I make a mess? _He carried everything back and put it in the sink, then sat down on the toilet and looked at the needle. _They make this look so easy on TV. I know how…but never done it on myself. _Sam felt around in his elbow, looking for a vein. When he was sure he located one, he shoved the needle in. _I did it! _Elation washed over him for a minute. He carefully followed the instructions he'd written down. _Dave was right, I'm a little lightheaded. Not bad. I wonder how much Dean'll need?_

A growl from the bed caught his attention. "Dean?" Dean growled again, a guttural, animal sound.

Another growl from the bed, then something that sounded like a scream. Sam poured some blood into a coffee mug. Dean was struggling against the chains. As Sam approached, Dean growled again, baring his teeth. Sam looked away as the fangs came into view. _No, I have to face this, I did this. _He reached down to help Dean drink, his brother snapped at his arm. Sam held the cup out. "It's blood, Dean, blood," he said, hoping Dean would respond to the sound of his voice. Dean sniffed at the cup, Sam held it so Dean could drink, trying to ignore the growls as Dean slurped up the blood. _No, I have to face this. _When Dean finished, he sighed and was unconscious again within seconds.

Sam looked at the mug in his hand. He carefully set it on the end of the bed. The emotion that had been threatening suddenly caught him, shattering him and driving him down to the floor. He put his head in his hands, the sobs tore out of his chest. "Oh, god, Dean, I'm so sorry," he sobbed over and over again. Eventually the tears ran out. Sam put his head against the bed. Grief, exhaustion and stress had taken a toll. _I have to sleep, I can't help Dean if I can't focus. Only half an hour, just that._

A growl from the bed woke him sometime later. He blinked away the nightmare he'd been having and stood, looking around for Dean. His heart sank. _It wasn't a nightmare. _Sam walked into the bathroom and filled the mug. Dean didn't seem as distressed this time, he didn't snap at Sam as he approached, instead he waited as Sam held the cup for him to drink. Dean still growled as he drank, but even that was a little diminished. When he'd finished the blood, Dean dropped back onto the bed with a sigh.

"Sleep, I'll be here," Sam said, patting his shoulder. _I wonder if he can even hear me? If he recognizes my voice? _

_I need to find answers. I have to. _Sam grabbed his bag, pulled out his laptop and several books. _I can't leave right now, I'll have to make do. _As he looked at their father's journal, he realized the words were blurring together. He walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Tears were running down his face again. _This isn't helping._

A sound, insistent, repeated, broke in sometime later. The sound started again. _Phone. _He walked out to the table and picked up his phone, glancing at the caller ID before he answered. _It's not like that many people have this number yet. _"Hey, Bobby," he answered, surprised at how normal his voice sounded.

"Sam? Why the hell didn't you answer, I've been calling for an hour."

_An hour? How long before that? _"Uh, sorry."

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked, his voice gruff, Sam could hear the concern in their friend's question.

_How much do I tell him? Nothing yet. _"Nothing, we just…Sorry."

"Let me talk to Dean."

"He's…" _He's dead, Bobby, my fault. Dead and infected with something I did. My fault, my fault, my fault. _"He's sleeping it off."

"Sleeping what off?"

"Geronimo's Finest," Sam said.

"Oh," Bobby chuckled. "I told him that stuff was poison."

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Bobby, what?"

"Nothing, Sam. Tell Dean I called, okay?"

"Sure." _What was that about?_

Sam sat back down at the table. He opened his laptop again and stared at John's journal. _Where do I start? _Shoving the journal aside, he grabbed a large book. _I should feel more guilty about stealing this. _Sam smiled a little, he'd acquired the book from a college library. Rare, out of print, nearly ancient, the encyclopedia had more information on the supernatural than most libraries. He'd muttered about it for days, every time he brought it up, Dean would roll his eyes and make a comment about the amount of money Sam was spending on copies.

"_Just take the freaking thing, Sammy, it'll do us more good than the stupid library," Dean said one night after listening to Sam extol the praises of the book again._

"_Books like that belong in a library, Dean."_

"_Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes and went back to his pizza. _

_Three days later, as they were pulling out of town, they passed the library. Dean slowed down. "You want to go in and kiss your love goodbye?"_

"_Bite me, Dean," Sam said as the library rolled past. He was feeling more than a little guilty. _

"_You sure? Last chance." Dean grinned at him. _

"_Uh…" Sam knew he was blushing. "It's not goodbye, Dean."_

"_What?"_

"_I…uh…it kind of fell into my bag last night," Sam said sheepishly._

"_That's my boy."_

Sam stared at the entry in the book as tears formed in his eyes. _Not helping the research. _He flipped through the pages, scanning for information, anything that might lead him to a cure for his brother.

"_The word itself is of Magyar origin, and appears in cognate forms in Slavonic languages; its origin may possibly be from the Turkish _uber._ Vampire is sometimes rendered in Latin by _strix_." _Sam sighed, "That doesn't help at all," he said to Dean. _"The concept of vampire is extremely ancient, and as it has developed, is an amalgam of various…" _

Sam read on, following source material through the internet. He found a translation of _De Nugis Curialium,_ it wasn't as helpful as he hoped. He was trying to get through the Latin in Allatuis' _De Graecorum Hodie Quuorundam Opinationibus_ when he decided to take a break. He pulled his phone out and called Bobby.

"How do you cure it?" Sam asked when Bobby answered.

"What?" Bobby sounded confused.

"Vampires, how do you cure them?"

"Are you two still fighting about that movie or whatever it is?" Bobby laughed.

"Cure, Bobby," Sam snapped out.

"There is no cure, Sam, we kill 'em, we don't cure 'em," Bobby said.

"Not good enough, damn it," Sam shouted, furious. _Calm down, he doesn't know. _

"Some people have hangovers," Dean groaned from the bed.

"Call you later," Sam said, breaking the connection as Bobby sputtered on the other end. "Dean?" Sam turned around to look at his brother, his heart pounding.

"Don't yell," Dean grumbled. "God, my head is killing me. Too much tequila last night, eh, Sammy?" He smiled.

"Last…Yeah, Dean," Sam said as he got the cup from the bathroom and filled it again. _I'll need to get more soon. _

"My stomach…Won't buy Geronimo's Finest again." Sam glanced over as Dean tried to sit up, it didn't look like he tried very hard. "Don't want to move much."

"I know. Here, this will help." Sam lifted Dean's head so he could drink.

"Good stuff, Sammy," Dean said hazily.

"Yeah. Sleep a little longer, Dean. I'll be here." _At least he didn't growl that time. Does he realize? Does he know what I've done? Oh god, I'm sorry, Dean._

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Sure, Dean." Sam put his hand on Dean's forehead, hoping it wasn't trembling too much.

"Okay, just give me a few minutes more…" Dean sighed and was silent again. Sam stayed with Dean until he was sure his brother was unconscious, then walked back over to the table. He was feeling lightheaded. _I probably should eat. I can't keep this up with no food. _

Sam got online, looking for a restaurant in the area that might deliver, although the thought of Chinese or pizza made bile rise in his throat. He'd about given up when he found a grocery store that delivered, ordered a variety of items, wondering what they thought when he gave them his address.

The order arrived about an hour later. Dean hadn't stirred again. Sam started with iron supplements and orange juice, then ate a meal. He finished eating and turned back to research, chasing any lead he could find. He'd stumbled on a collection of writings by a group of alchemists, when his phone pulled his attention away from research. He glanced at the clock on the phone before answering. _It's been six hours? _"Bobby?"

"Sam? What's going on?"

"What?"

"You seem pretty interested in vampires all of a sudden."

"Yeah. Have you heard of a cure?"

"Why? Sam? We kill vampires, we don't cure, there is no cure."

"There has to be, Bobby," Sam said desperately. Tears formed in his eyes. _There has to be, please. _"We have to cure this one."

"Sam? Why?"

"It's…It's…" Sam took a deep breath. "It's Dean," the words grated out of him.

"What?" Bobby whispered.

"It's Dean. My fault, I…I had blood on my hands."

"Oh god, Sam, are you sure?"

"Yeah. Bobby…" He was starting to break again. _My fault. It's my fault. I did this._

"What will you do?"

"Find a cure."

"If there is no cure?"

"I don't know, Bobby." _There has to be a cure. There has to be._

"Sam?" Dean said softly.

"He's awake, got to go. Dean?" Sam said.

Dean opened one eye, blinking furiously. "Hangovers suck," he grumbled

"Yeah, they do." Sam tried for a smile. _How do I tell him? Is he lucid enough…?_

"Why are you…?"

_What? Oh, yeah, I was drinking too. _"Oh, I tried your cure, the greasy pork chop and ashtray? Fixed me right up."

"Oh, god, Sam, don't." Dean swallowed, Sam laughed at the look on his brother's face. Dean got his other eye open, blinking away tears. "My head…Oh, god."

"I'll get you something, Dean, it'll help."

"Same stuff you gave me last time? That really helped."

"I know," Sam said, his voice breaking.

"Sam?" Dean struggled against the chains for a minute before relaxing again. "Yikes."

"It's okay, Dean." Sam poured the last of the blood into a mug. His heart was pounding. _How do I tell him? What do I say? Dean? What do I do?_

"Sammy?" Dean said.

Sam met Dean's eyes. "Yeah, Dean?"

"What's that?"

"Dean?"

"In your hand, Sam, what the hell is it?" Dean shouted, trying to sit up. He glanced down the bed. "Sam?" Anger gave way to despair.

"Sorry, Dean, I didn't know…" He sat on the edge of the bed. "Here, this will help."

"What is it, Sam?"

"Dean…" Sam took a breath, the tears were back. "Here." He slid his hand behind Dean's head and held him so he could drink. Dean pressed his lips together. "Dean, please."

"No."

"Dean, please, just drink." Dean shook his head, trying to pull away from the cup. "Dean…" _Please, you have to. I need more time. _Sam tipped the cup so a little blood dribbled on to Dean's lips. "Please."

"No, Sam," Dean pleaded as Sam poured a little more blood out. "No," the word came out as an anguished growl.

"Please, Dean, please. Give me time to find a cure."

"No," Dean growled, Sam tipped the cup again. "Oh god," Dean whispered, fangs descending. He drank, tears running down his face. When he finished he dropped back on the bed. "Sammy…"

"I'm so sorry, Dean. You have to eat, you have to give me time."

"Sam? Are you…?"

"No." Sam brushed the tears off Dean's face. "No."

"Thank god."

"I'm so sorry, Dean…I…"

"Kill me."

"No."

"You have to, Sam. I'm a monster. You have to kill me. Before I hurt someone, before I hurt you," Dean said, struggling against the chains again.

"No, Dean. You have to give me time, let me find a cure."

"There is no cure, Sam, you know that. Nothing for this, get it over with."

"No, Dean, I won't kill you." _I already did, Dean. Oh god. _"I'm sorry. Just give me a little…" His phone was ringing, he ignored it. It stopped and started again, and stopped. Dean's phone rang, then his again. Sam picked it up. "What, Bobby?"

"I found something…"

"What?" Sam asked.

"In the writings of Petronius, he was an alchemist that lived in the 16th century."

"Bobby?" Sam looked at his brother. Dean was still struggling against the chains. "Is it a cure?" Dean stopped and looked at him.

"Sam?" Dean whispered.

"Bobby?" Sam asked, his heart pounding, his mouth dry.

"I…"

"Bobby? Is it a cure?" Sam held his breath.

"Yeah, I think it is," Bobby said his voice rough with emotion.

"Sammy?" Dean asked again.

"Bobby's found a cure."

_**To Be Continued**_


	3. Blood Brothers

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! I appreciate it so much. Thank you to Abni, Dennis, Manavie and TraSan for extra handholding on this one! AU. AU. AU. AU. AU. _

**Blood Brothers**

**Chapter Three**

_**For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother  
**__**-William Shakespeare**_

The heater crackled to life, the sound startling Sam. He glanced over at Dean, his brother was unconscious, he'd gone back to sleep shortly after the phone call from Bobby. _I wonder how long that goes on? _As soon as Dean had dropped off, Sam had gone back to research. He'd been following the same thread as Bobby, the older man had narrowed down the search a little sooner. Sam found the works of Petronius and was going through them, cross-referencing them with other writers. A trickle of relief—something close to hope—was beginning to creep through his awareness, making him tired, elated and anxious to continue.

He took a break after three hours at the computer to make himself some food and prepare more blood for Dean. Sam let his head rest against the wall as the liquid filled the jar. _I can't keep feeding him forever. I'll need to find something else. No, I'll find a way out of this. _

"Sam?"

"Here, Dean," Sam picked up the jar and carried it out.

"What are you doing?" Dean looked from Sam to the jar, the tube and needle still connecting it to Sam's arm.

"Making milkshakes," Sam sat on the edge of the bed. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Sam looked at the jar, it was nearly full, and he was feeling a little lightheaded. He pulled the needle out of his arm, sealed the jar and began getting the clots out of the blood.

"Sam?" Dean asked, a frown on his face.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Have you been…oh god…" Dean swallowed, then shook his head, closing his eyes. Sam could see his brother's jaw clenching, tears were seeping out of Dean's eyes. Dean swallowed again and opened his eyes. "Your blood, Sammy? Gross."

"I thought it would make a nice change," Sam said, playing along with Dean's attempt at normal.

"Change from what?" Dean said, watching Sam swirl the blood. Tears were still running down Dean's cheeks.

"Well I called Bobby and asked him about the first feed, you know," Sam said, keeping his voice light. _Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry. _

"Yeah?"

"And I asked him, you know…" _He said I had to feed you human blood or you'd die, Dean. I couldn't let that happen. I know you'd want to…but I couldn't._

"Oh, dude, not like Renfield?" Dean asked, his voice rising.

"Well…Bobby seemed to think…" Sam said, getting up to decant the blood into another jar, and then pouring some into the mug.

"Bugs, Sammy? Please tell me it wasn't bugs."

"Sorry, Dean, I couldn't think of anything else, although I did see a mouse." Sam sat on the bed.

"Mouse? Bugs?" Dean was frowning. "That's just gross." Sam slid his hand behind Dean's head. "Sammy…"

"You have to feed, Dean, please," Sam said, hearing the desperation in his voice. _Please, Dean. _"Just give me a little more time to chase this cure down." He held the cup in front of Dean so his brother could smell the blood, ready to force him to feed again if needed. Dean pressed his head into Sam's hand, turning away from the cup, his lips pressed together. "Please, Dean."

"Sam…" Dean swallowed, Sam heard a small growl deep in Dean's throat.

"I'll find a cure, I just need time," Sam pleaded.

"I…Oh god, Sam…I…" Dean kept his face turned away from Sam. Dean was trembling, the growl becoming more pronounced. "Will you…"

"What?" Sam said gently.

"Close your eyes? Or look away? Please."

_I did this, I have to be able to face it, Dean, but…_"Okay." Sam closed his eyes as he held the cup.

Dean growled, Sam heard his fangs clink against the rim of the cup. "I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Sam tipped the cup and Dean drank, his growl subsiding as he fed. "Done," Dean said, his voice strangled. Sam opened his eyes. Blood had run down the side of Dean's face. Sam went into the bathroom, wet a washcloth, then cleaned the blood off his brother's face. Dean closed his eyes, a look of desperate agony on his face. "I'm sorry," he said again. "You shouldn't…"

"You always were a messy eater, Dean. Remember that time we stopped at the pizza place in Utah?"

"Sam…"

"And you ended up with salami pizza all over yourself? Dad was pissed. We'd just gotten new clothes."

"I seem to remember you having a little war with the salad bar, Sam," Dean said, opening his eyes and smiling a little at Sam.

"The ladle got stuck in the salad dressing," Sam said as he got up.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, panic in his voice.

"Just to get rid of this washcloth and grab something to drink." Sam poured himself a glass of orange juice and grabbed a couple iron pills. "Doctor Dave said it helps to take iron with vitamin C."

"Doctor Dave?"

"I needed to know…" Sam stopped as a pained expression crossed Dean's face. "Yeah, Dr. Dave."

"He's always helpful," Dean said softly.

"Yeah. Dean? I've been following up on Bobby's research. I think he's on to something with this."

Dean shook his head, shifting against the chains that held him pinned to the bed. "Don't you think if there was a cure we'd have heard about it?"

"I don't think so. Remember dad thought vampires were extinct. There was no reason to look for a cure." Sam shrugged. "Besides…"

"Vampires are monsters and no one wants to cure a monster? Kill is the cure, Sam." Dean tried to sit up.

"We need to give this a chance, Dean."

"I'm not going to live like this, a monster feeding on human blood."

"You're not a monster," Sam said firmly. "You never will be, Dean. You've fought against evil your whole life…Lenore lived on cow's blood."

"Cow's blood? Gross."

"You like your steak pretty rare, Dean. There's not much difference between a bloody steak and some blood."

"There is a hell of a difference, Sammy, and you know it," Dean shouted, pulling against the chains.

"Just give me a little time, Dean, please. I've found someone who I think can help. A priest, he's written extensively on the works of sixteenth century alchemist Petronius and the occult. We can be to him in about five hours." Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Please."

"No, Sam, there is no cure, just get it over with." Dean shrugged. "Hell gets me a little sooner than we planned. What's the difference?"

_No, I'm going to figure this out. I'm going to get you out of this and that deal, Dean. You hear me? DO YOU?? _"Okay, but before I do, I have to ask you a question. If it were reversed, if it were me there and you here, what would you do, Dean? If you were sure there was a cure within reach?"

Dean met his eyes. "Not fair," Dean said, anguished.

"Five hours, Dean, maybe a few more…"

"Five hours. And if there is no cure, Sam, you have to promise me…"

_Please don't ask, Dean. Please. _"What?"

"Promise me you'll end this."

"Dean…"

"Promise me."

"If there is no cure, Dean, I promise you I won't let you become a monster."

"Thank you," Dean said, relaxing again. "I'm getting sleepy."

"You need to sleep? Okay, let's get you out to the car, then you can sleep while I drive."

"What about sunlight?"

"It's one in the morning. We have enough time to get there and get you into a room before dawn." Sam pulled the key out of his pocket and undid the lock. He carefully unwound the chain and helped Dean up. His brother's legs buckled when he stood. Sam supported him out to the car.

"Chain me, Sammy, just in case," Dean said. "I think if you put the chains around the seat it'll be enough," he muttered drowsily.

"I'll take care of it, Dean, sleep, okay?"

"Nice to be in my baby last more time," Dean said, letting his head drop against the seat. "Thank you."

"It's not the last time," Sam said softly. He got the chain from the room and wound it around Dean, then put a blanket over his brother. Sam quickly packed the car and pulled out, heading out in search of a cure.

Dean slept most of the way, waking briefly to mutter something about the music, then drifting off again. Sam would put his hand on Dean's shoulder until his brother dropped back to sleep. The first tiny sliver of dawn was in the eastern sky when Sam pulled off the highway at a small motel. _Took closer to six hours. _He checked in and managed to get Dean into the room before his brother was awake.

"Sam?" Dean said, sitting up as Sam carried the last of their things into the room.

"Yeah?"

"I…" Dean looked away. "I…"

_He needs to feed. _Sam poured some blood into a plastic cup and carried it to Dean. "Here," he said, handing his brother the cup. Dean took it without looking at Sam. "I'll just unpack a couple of things, okay?" Sam turned his back on Dean and walked to the table, staring into his bag. _I have to do this, I have to. I can't…_

"Done," Dean said. Sam turned to face him. "When are you leaving?"

"Leaving?"

"To talk to the priest?" Dean's voice was bright, a smile lit his face.

"In a few minutes," Sam said.

"Oh, good, I'll just kick back and watch a little TV."

_You think you can fool me? _"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean's smile widened into a grin, false, pained.

"When I leave you're going to kill yourself aren't you?" Sam walked to the bed, his eyes never leaving Dean's.

"Nah, Sammy. How would I do that? Beheading's the only way." He was smirking, a dark shadow in his eyes.

"You're lying."

"No, you're nuts. How would I do it?" Dean forced a laugh. Sam could hear the anguish behind it, the panic, the pain. "Put my head under a train or something?"

_That's precisely what I think you'll do. Dean, you said you'd wait. _"I should have known."

"Known what?"

"That you acquiesced too easy."

"Acquiesced? Who talks like that?" Dean was grinning, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You're lying, Dean," Sam sighed. "I can see it on your face."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"Bitch," Dean said, his voice pained.

"Jerk," Sam answered. Dean moved so quickly that Sam barely had time to react. _Luckily I was expecting this. I know you, Dean. _Sam managed to stop his brother at the door, shoving the syringe he'd hidden in his hand into Dean's neck. _Oh god, I'm sorry, Dean. _

"Sammy?" Dean said as his legs gave way.

"Sorry," Sam whispered as he helped Dean back to the bed. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much." Dean dropped onto the bed.

"Sorry," Sam said again. "I need time, Dean."

"Sam…" Dean's eyes closed.

"I'll be back in an hour," Sam said, grabbing another syringe from his bag. He pushed the second dose of dead man's blood into Dean's arm. "I told you I need a little time." Sam waited until he was sure Dean was out before chaining his brother to the bed. "I'm sorry," he said again, aware tears had gathered in his eyes. _Oh god, please let this be a cure._ "I'll be back, wait for me."

Sam found the church at the edge of town, the small structure was nestled up against the abbey's wall. The church was open when Sam tried the door and he walked into the vestibule. It was dim inside. Candles glittered from each side of the chapel. There were several people scattered throughout the pews, most holding rosaries, silently repeating prayers. Sam wandered towards the front of the church towards a man in a black cassock standing in front of the altar.

"Excuse me?" Sam said softly, his voice echoing in the quiet chapel.

"Yes?" The man turned to face him, he didn't look much older than Sam.

"I'm looking for Father Stephen Blake."

The young man looked at him for a long moment, then smiled gently. "Of course, follow me," he led the way to the back of the church, then out a door into a bright garden. Sam followed him as he led the way through the abbey grounds. He finally stopped in front of a door at the back of the garden, rapping on the door. "There is someone here to see you."

"Don't stand outside the door waiting, Thomas," a deep voice said. The door opened. "How many times have I told you?" The tall man standing in the door smiled at Sam. "Come in. Can you get some coffee for our guest? It looks like he might need some." He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him into the room, steering him towards a large wingback chair. "Sit down," the man said kindly. "I'm Stephen Blake."

"Sam Winchester," Sam said, looking around the room. It was lined with bookcases. A massive desk sat against the back wall, a computer on the desk, a large volume sitting open beside the keyboard. Blake sat down across from Sam. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. Bright green eyes sparkled from beneath dark eyebrows, his short hair had white in it.

"What can I do for you, Sam Winchester?" Blake frowned. "Winchester? You aren't related to John Winchester, are you?" He suddenly beamed at Sam. "Of course you are, I can see it in your face. His sons…Sam and Dean, right?"

Sam felt a smile on his face. "Yes, sir. He was my father."

"Was?"

The smile faded. "He died last year."

"I'm so sorry. I hadn't heard." Blake was interrupted by a tap on the door. "How many times do I have to tell you to just come in, Thomas?" he roared. The door opened and the young man came into the room. He put a coffee pot and a cup on the table beside Sam and quietly left. "New recruit," Blake said as Sam poured himself a cup of coffee.

"New recruit?"

"He's just joined the order and is still a little in awe of the whole thing, I think." He leaned back in his chair. "What brings you to me, Sam?"

"Father Blake…"

"Stephen," he corrected gently.

"I wanted to talk to you about Petronius." Sam smiled.

"Ah. The alchemist who called himself after Nero's arbiter of taste and elegance. Bloodthirsty bastard."

"Petronius?"

"Nero."

"Oh," Sam said. "I read your treatise on the works of Petronius…"

"My god, you are ambitious, aren't you?"

"Not really. I wanted to know more about the cure…"

"He lists about a hundred…I think he even has a cure for wobbles and thrumps in there somewhere."

"Yes, I know. But I wanted to know about the cure for vampirism."

"Ah, yes, he did think he'd found a cure," Stephen laughed.

"Is there a cure?" Sam asked.

"Why would you want to cure a vampire, Sam? They're monsters, bloodsucking fiends."

"Is there a cure?" Sam repeated.

The laughter died from Stephen's eyes. "Why?"

"I…" Sam stopped.

"Sam? Why do you need a cure?" he asked gently, his eyes full of knowing compassion.

"Dean," the word escaped from Sam's mouth unbidden.

"Dean? Your brother? What's happened?"

"We were hunting a vampire, a hunter was turned, a hunter who wanted me dead…" Sam tried to stop the words, but they welled up and out of him. "I killed him. I got blood on my hands. Dean had been bitten, and when I checked the wound on his neck…" _When I checked his neck…Oh god, I killed him. I did it. Dean, I'm so sorry._

"You infected him," Stephen said simply.

"I didn't realize…I think I was still…We'd gotten back to our room and I realized he'd been hurt…"

"Back to your room? It didn't happen immediately?"

"No," Sam frowned.

"How long until you knew Dean had been infected?"

"About half an hour, I guess. He was drinking…" Sam looked at him.

"It must have been because the blood was congealed. Usually it happens much faster. Interesting. You're sure?"

"Yes," Sam said, tears gathering in his eyes. _Of course I'm sure. I did it, I waited while he died, I fed him my blood when he woke up. _"I have to find a cure. Was Petronius right?" Sam asked desperately. Stephen looked away, staring at the ceiling. "Please." The man didn't answer, instead he got up and paced away towards the bookshelf. He pulled a book down and carried it to the desk. Sam watched him for a minute before standing and walking over to the desk. "Was Petronius right?" _Please, just tell me. Please._

Stephen looked up and met his eyes. "He thought he'd found it…" He flipped a page over, Sam looked down at the handwritten page, alchemist's symbols covered the ancient vellum. "He was so sure…" Stephen laughed, it had none of the humor it had before, instead it was bitter, dark.

"Is it there cure?"

"He was so sure," Stephen said, turning back to the bookshelves. "So sure. Immortality, Sam…"

"Is there a cure?" Sam asked again, hearing desperation in the question. His heart was slamming against his ribs as he asked, hope warring with despair.

"No," Stephen said softly.

Sam looked down at the desk, tears running out of his eyes. "Are you sure?" he whispered. _How can you be sure. You could be wrong, you don't know…_

"Yes," Stephen said. "I'm sure."

"I thought it might be a problem with the translation I had," Sam said to the table.

"What?" Stephen turned. "You knew?"

"I suspected, but I hoped…" _I hoped I hadn't killed Dean. But I did, how do I fix this? How can I fix this? Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry. _

"If you knew, why did you come here?"

"I convinced myself I was mistaken. That my translation was wrong because I didn't have a good copy of the text." Sam was looking at the desk, he realized that the book in front of him looked familiar. He pulled it towards him. "This looks like…" Sam sank down into the chair in front of the desk. "This looks like an original copy," he said, excited.

"It is," Stephen said.

"Then maybe there is a cure, maybe it's here."

"No, Sam. It doesn't work."

Sam ignored the priest, flipping to the front of the book. "I wondered why he was even looking for a cure at all. Most people don't even think about it. Kill is the cure," Sam echoed his brother's words.

"He had a reason," Stephen said.

Sam looked at the notes in the front of the book, trying to piece together the Latin. He turned a page and read more, slowly deciphering the alchemical symbols on the page. The next page he just glanced at, a woodcut of Petronius and the title of the work. He moved on, then something stopped him. He flipped back and stopped. Sam took a deep breath and glanced around the desk, letting his eyes slide over the handwritten notes scattered across the surface. He looked up and met Stephen's eyes.

"He had a reason," Stephen repeated.

"You…You had a reason," Sam stated.

"Yes." He sat in the chair across from Sam.

"Why?"

"Immortality, Sam."

"But…I thought…"

"Oh, you thought right, but immortality varies."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, idly flipping through the pages without really looking at them.

"The nature of the soul," Stephen said. "It was quite the debate back then, the nature of the soul. So many ideas…you know women barely made it out of one church council with an immortal soul? They were trying to decide if women had souls like men or like animals…" Stephen shrugged. "Sorry, interesting point, but…the nature of the soul. Immortality differs based on that."

"On what?"

"The human soul enjoys immortality in the afterlife, for better or worse, heaven or hell, but lives on in the world beyond, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said. _The soul lives in hell forever, slowly burning away all humanity…_

"The vampire has an immortal soul as well, but it is, for lack of a better term, a material soul."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Sorry?"

"Okay, obscure theology really. What I mean is that the vampire's soul is tied to this earth. You trade immortality in the other world for immortality in this world. If the vampire dies, his soul ceases to exist."

"So why look for a cure?"

"I wanted the other immortality," he smiled gently. "I still do."

"But Petronius—you—were so sure about the cure."

"I was, but it's not a cure."

"How can you be sure?" Sam demanded.

"I experimented."

"On who?" Sam paused, looking at Stephen. "On your own kind?"

Stephen smiled, a bitter, feral smile. "I'm a bit of a monster, you know, Sam. I'm sorry about your brother. You can bring him here, my brothers here understand, they'll help."

"They know about you?" Sam frowned. "I thought vampires…Well, I thought crosses…"

"Crosses and holy water?" Stephen asked, amusement glittering in his eyes. "Yeah, holy water works for most things, and I keep my hands out of it most of the time, but it's not really a deterrent." He laughed. "I read one theory that it wasn't only crosses, but any sacred symbol. I've often wondered if it was one of us who started that rumor." Stephen sighed sadly. "My kind has all but ceased to exist, immortal souls flitting out of existence."

"There's no cure," Sam said softly, trying to stop the tears. _Oh god, Dean. _A stray thought, something that had been there, but only now managed to worm its way free to float to the top of his awareness appeared. He looked up at the priest. "Stephen…"

"Yes, Sam?" He looked at Sam with a gentle smile on his face. Sam could see the weariness behind the man's eyes, the long years of existence. "What do you want to know?"

The sun was beginning to break through the cloud cover when Sam pulled up in front of the motel. He got out of the Impala and watched one bright golden patch chase the shadow he was standing in away. Sam closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun, letting it warm him, the light bright blood-red against his closed lids. He sighed and pushed himself away from the car, opening the door he automatically checked on Dean, his brother was still unconscious. _Good. _

Sam grabbed his collection jars, the tube and a fresh needle. He went into the bathroom and sat down on the closed toilet, swaying a little. _Lack of sleep and blood loss might be catching up with me. _He got up and moved to the floor, bracing his back against the tub. Sam set the alarm on his phone and let his eyes close, dozing, but awake enough to keep squeezing the ball in his hand. When the alarm beeped, he woke up enough to change jars and went back to dozing. The second beep of the alarm pulled him out of a nightmare of fangs and blood, grief and despair. He realized tears were running down his face as awareness crept in.

After processing the blood, he carried it out to the small refrigerator in the room. A low moan came from the bed. Dean was beginning to stir. Sam walked over to the table and looked in his bag, the room swimming around him. _Might need to sit down, I'll grab this…_He opened a coke and took a drink, the cool liquid seemed to go straight to his head, but the sugar stopped the room's movement.

Sam sat down on the edge of Dean's bed. "Dean?"

"That shit hurts, Sam," Dean groaned.

"Sorry." _I had to, you would have been dead when I got back and there would have been no hope for a cure. Oh god, Dean…_

"How long was I out?"

"About four hours. I gave you a second dose to make sure."

"Make sure of what?" Dean opened his eyes and frowned at Sam.

"Make sure you wouldn't wake up and try and kill yourself." _What do you think I meant?_

"Would have saved you the trouble."

"I had to know about the cure, Dean," Sam said, anger curling through his chest. "I had to find out if there was a way to fix this."

"Is there?" Dean looked at him.

"Dean…"

"Was it a cure?" Dean asked.

"I talked to Stephen—Stephen Blake, the priest I told you about—it's not a cure. Not yet. He's still looking."

"Not a cure? Told you. Why the hell would anyone look?"

"He wants the cure, Dean. He's a vampire," Sam laughed softly.

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny, Dean. He's Petronius."

"Didn't you say Petronius…But that means…"

"Yeah," Sam said softly. "I talked to him for a long time."

"He's a monster, Sam. Like me, like Gordon."

"He's not a monster, you're not a monster, you never will be, you fought evil…"

"So did Gordon, Sam," Dean snapped.

"Face it, Gordon was a monster long before he was turned, Dean. Look at Lenore, look at Stephen. You can exist like this and not be a monster."

"No."

"Dean, there's something…I asked…" Sam stopped. _How do I convince him? _

"A monster's a monster, Sam. You have to kill me."

"I already did," the words snapped out of Sam, harsh, bitter.

"What?"

"I killed you, Dean. I felt your heart stop," Sam said, angry desperate tears forming in his eyes.

"No…" Dean paused. "You need to kill me now."

"Don't you get it?" Sam shouted, standing and pacing away. "Don't you see?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Dean, you died. You're dead."

"And? See, monster."

"Can't you see?" Sam was yelling.

"See what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"THAT!"

"WHAT?"

The anger drained out of Sam, leaving him exhausted. He dragged himself over to the bed and put his hand on Dean's chest. "You died."

"Yeah?"

"Stephen told me…I asked…"

"Sam?" Dean asked gently, acknowledging Sam's distress.

"The deal, Dean. I would never have done this, but Dean. You died, you're dead."

"Got that, you've said it three times."

"And you're still here," Sam said softly.

"What?"

"The vampire's soul is different. Their immortality is material—here on the earth. When you turned, your soul altered. It can't go to hell. When you die in this form, it ceases to exist. No hell. Not ever."

"What?" Dean looked at him, eyes searching Sam's looking for the truth.

"No hell, Dean. They can't take you."

"I'm still a monster. You need to end this."

"Dean, the deal…"

"Got it, Sammy. And when you kill me, I'm not a monster. And there's no hell. Perfect!"

Sam ignored his brother, instead carefully turning Dean's arm over and running his hand over a scar on his brother's wrist, he looked at the matching scar on his own arm. "Remember this?"

Dean smiled gently. "Yeah, we'd just seen that movie with Jimmy Stewart about Cochise—'Broken Arrow'—and decided to do the ritual from the movie." He laughed softly. "Dad was pissed 'you're already brothers, you don't need to kill yourselves to prove it.' "

"Yeah. I had to read the book—the one the movie was based on—in my class on the Frontier West in literature."

"You are such a geek."

"Thanks. The book was called _Blood Brothers_…"

"Makes sense, isn't that what the ritual was called too? And the knife. I remember you were so scared when you sliced your wrist and said 'this knife knows we are of one blood'."

"I think I was more scared when you cut your wrist."

"Sam." Dean met his eyes. "End it. I won't become a monster and risk hurting someone, risk hurting you." Dean stopped, panic suddenly springing to his eyes. "And the deal? What if…Sam they said you'd die if I tried to get out of the deal. You have to kill me, do it."

"Dean? If I kill you and you don't go to hell, isn't that breaking the deal?" Sam said gently.

"Kill me, please Sam, you promised. I can't risk you, I won't."

"Dean…"

"What if they come for you, Sam? You have to kill me. Please, now."

"Dean…" Sam said again.

"You promised me, Sammy."

"Since you made the deal, Dean, this whole year, I've had to face losing you. I can't Dean, I won't."

"YOU PROMISED YOU'D KILL ME!" Dean shouted, pulling against the chains.

"No I didn't. I promised I wouldn't let you become a monster, Dean."

"Same thing."

"Dean…" Sam picked up the large knife he'd put on the bedside table. Dean stopped struggling against the chains.

"Do it fast, Sammy," Dean closed his eyes. "Goodbye little brother."

"It's not goodbye," Sam said softly. Dean's eyes snapped open, but before Dean could say anything, before he could react, Sam quickly sliced his own arm, then Dean's, pressing the wounds together.

"No, Sammy, wash it out. Hurry."

"Too late," Sam said, already feeling a prickle of cold running up his arm like an army of frozen ants. The cold was spreading through his body, pinpricks of ice, freezing his life. He fumbled with the key and managed to get the lock off the chains. "Stephen said it was usually very fast."

"Sam, no." Dean's voice was anguished, tears running down his face.

"I told you, we go down, we go down together, Dean." Sam unwound the chains holding Dean to the bed. "Together." He stood to walk back to the head of the bed as Dean pushed the chains away. Sam's knees buckled before he made it. Dean caught him and eased him onto the bed.

"Sammy…"

Sam looked at his brother. "I won't let you become a monster. You never let me believe that about myself, I won't let it happen to you."

"You're not a monster, Sammy, never could be." Dean's voice broke.

"Neither are you, Dean," Sam said. Dean was holding him propped against his chest, his arms tight around Sam. "Never."

"Sam…"

"And now they can't take me, either, Dean. No matter what. They can't take either of us. We go on, saving people, hunting things, the family business. Together." He let his head drop against his brother's shoulder. Dean tightened his grip. "There's enough blood for both of us in the fridge. When you think it's safe to move me, take us to Stephen. He's at the Abbey of the Holy Blood outside of town. He'll help us adapt."

"Sam," Dean let his head rest against the top of Sam's. "Little brother…Bitch," he said softly.

"Jerk," Sam said and let the cold carry him away. "Together…"

**XXX**

He hadn't seen it coming. He'd been so wrapped up in his own misery, he hadn't seen it. Dean heard the frantic pounding of his brother's heart as they spoke, but he convinced himself it was just Sam working up the strength to kill him.

He'd never been so wrong.

Dean caught Sam, holding him as tight as he could, willing his blood out of Sam, begging a silent universe to turn it back, knowing there was nothing he could do. He could feel the tears on his face, the ache in his chest as he listened to Sam's heart slowing.

Each heartbeat took a moment longer than the last. _He's dying. I know it's different this time, but oh god, Sammy. _"Sam," Dean let his head rest against the top of Sam's. _What do I say? How do I fix this? _"Little brother…Bitch," he said softly.

"Jerk," Sam said, his heart slowing another beat. "Together…"

"Together, Sammy, always," Dean said softly, knowing his brother hadn't heard, knowing his brother was dying. He let his hand rest on Sam's chest. Listened to the slowing beat. His hand was there when Sam's heart skittered, he heard it as the organ tried to carry on against the poison, but couldn't fight it. His hand was there, he was listening, when Sam's heart took the last beat it ever would. Dean felt the change in Sam as he died. He felt the shift moving Sam to a new existence, one they would share.

"Together," Dean said, holding on to his brother as if he were the only anchor in a storm-swept sea. "I'll be here when you wake up, Sammy."

_**The End**_

_A/N II: Now that the boys are here, I plan to return to this 'verse occasionally. If you'd like to play let me know and I'll set up a C2._


End file.
